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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103239">Once more, with feeling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/pseuds/Zimraphel'>Zimraphel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Humor, Maedhros has had ENOUGH, Parody, featuring Maedhros' Swiss Army Knife hand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:20:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/pseuds/Zimraphel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros walks...no. stumbles... is pushed... Maedhros-- has had QUITE enough of this writer returning him to that thrice-damned geologically implausible fiery chasm scene several times the same <i>week</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Once more, with feeling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522697">Fulgurite</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimraphel/pseuds/Zimraphel">Zimraphel</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>‘<em>The sky was nearly as dark as the Sea that boiled beneath it; the earth cracked and furrowed as though gargantuan claws had tried to hold onto it with their last strength before being dragged into the Void at last.</em>’</p><p> </p></div><div class=""><p>A lone figure moved slowly through this grim landscape, picking the easiest path through the rubble. A howling wind lifted his hair (which was a deep, unlikely red of a shade rarely seen outside of a bottle) somehow entirely without tangling it; in fact it rather emphasized the man’s sharp, perfectly symmetrical features, scarred in a precise, clean-cut way that only added to his beauty. His only flaw appeared to be a marked lack of hand on the right side, but given that it had been replaced by an impressive, elaborately decorated and likely more practical Swiss knife set this did not inspire quite as much pity as it possibly could have. He was currently utilizing what appeared to be a toothpick to remove bits of arugula and olive from between his front teeth, ponderously tossing the blinding light up and down with his left hand.</p></div><div class=""><p>He suddenly jerked into motion, stumbling forward with a greater amount of clumsiness than could reasonably have been expected of the person who walked through the rubble with all the careful grace of a ballet dancer on a lunchbreak mere seconds ago.</p></div><div class=""><p>“Aaaaah!!” he cried, and clutched the light to his breast. It was, the writer thought, a suitably <em>dramatic</em> scene; the damned prince with his blood-streaked chin, clutching his heirloom at last, stumbling towards his doom in great distress, which could surely explain his decision to—“the damn toothpick went straight through my lip, you fool,” the redhead interrupted, speaking in a language that had most <em>assuredly</em> been banned several hundreds of years before. Could he not at least pretend to speak Sindarin? It really wasn’t too much to ask. The readers’ sympathy would be sorely tried if he went on like this. The writer’s AO3 hits/kudos ratio already wasn’t among the best; she’d calculated her most popular fic at a solid 6 out of 10 at most; if fanfiction was a university course she would be talking to her advisor at this very moment. She swallowed nervously.</p><p> </p></div></div><div class=""><p>  Anyway. <em>‘He was,</em>’ the writer wrote with a pointed glare at the grimacing elf, ‘<em>deeply </em><strong><em>distraught</em></strong><em>, this doomed dispossessed prince, eager to see his sole soulmate again at long last, assured alone by the fact that if the Void took him after all he would be at least again with his fire-spirit father. Maedhros stumbled unsteadily towards the chasm, hardly anymore aware of his surroundings, tears streaking paths through the sooth on his face, weeping for his beloved forever lost beneath the Earth, his bones in some pile soon washed away to the salty—</em>‘ “Don’t you dare.” ‘<em>IN A PILE washed out,</em>’ “For Mandos’ sake.”  ‘<em>washed away to the salty Sea.</em>’</p></div><div class=""><p>Maedhros screamed, and kicked a helmet that had perhaps belonged to a character significant in the story in a rage.</p></div><div class=""><p>“If you don’t stop overusing alliteration right <em>now</em> I will wash <em>you</em> out to Sea!” He brandished his Swiss knife set threateningly in the general direction of the sky. “I did <em>not</em> pass three hundred years among those Lambengolmor pedants for this. And stop making me weep, by the stars! This is the <em>third</em> time I’m at this –by the way geologically <em>entirely</em> implausible, if you’d like to know—fiery chasm this <em>week</em>, and I’m quite frankly tired of it.” A speculative look crossed his face.</p></div><div class=""><p> “Don’t you ever write any porn, Aftercomer?”</p></div><div class=""><p>The sky shifted somewhat awkwardly as the writer tried to keep it thematically appropriate to the occasion. The clouds spelled out something that read suspiciously much like ‘I’m not in the mood,’ if one used a freely available Tengwar font to spell out English sentences. Maedhros frowned. “That doesn’t look like anything to m—“</p></div><div class=""><p>‘<em>His gaze is steady. He looks over his shoulder; cannot see anything worth staying for.</em>’ “Yes I do. Stop this. You have a problem; I am actually genuinely worried about your state of mind. Have you ever considered therap—“</p></div><div class=""><p><em>‘Takes another step.’</em> “HEY!”  </p></div><div class=""><p>-</p></div><div class=""><p>and burns, warmed by the memory of’ “<em>FUCK</em> YOU!”</p></div><div class=""><p>-</p><p> </p><p> </p></div><div class=""><p>Ah, another productive day of writing. The writer closed her laptop with a satisfied sigh, deciding to reward herself with a slice of apple pie. This was going to get her <em>so </em>many Kudos.</p></div></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please believe me when i say i am not actually obsessed with kudos.</p><p>(feel free to leave kudos though)</p><p>(like don't let me stop you)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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